Bewitched
by Lynse
Summary: Sam and Dean thought they were dealing with some centuries-old he-witch. That isn't quite the case. One-shot.


A/N: For sapphireswimming. Happy birthday! Note that there are more threats and swearing than detailed violence. Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

The signs had been more along the lines of impossible robberies than bloody murders, but Sam and Dean had been fairly sure they were on the trail of some centuries-old he-witch.

The creep changed his name in every town, though he was still recognizable by his out-of-place clothes and snake oil schemes. He was able to get into places that were locked up without leaving a trace, grab whatever he wanted, and disappear. Between appearances, he dropped off the grid. He seemed a little too good at that to be human, or at least an ordinary human, so when Sam saw that newspaper article and put two and two together, they'd decided to take a road trip to Michigan and check him out before he skipped town. Just to be safe.

Now?

Dean wasn't so sure about any of that now.

If the guy was a witch, he sure as hell wasn't using any magic to save his ass. He wasn't even trying to fight them. He was cowering in a corner, trying to hide from their guns behind a wooden table. Dean and Sam both had different weaponry and ammunition on them—silver and iron bullets and even slugs packed with rock salt, though only Dean had a sawed-off shotgun with him, strapped to his back—in case they were wrong about what kind of monster this guy was, but….

Dean met Sam's eyes, and Sam nodded and pulled out a flask of holy water. Probably not a demon—even with their reputation, most demons seemed to think they could take them and those that didn't would've smoked out by now—but better to be safe than sorry.

Dean kept his pistol steady as Sam approached just near enough to toss the water onto their target. No burning. No smoking.

Crap. Maybe he was just a human monster after all. They hadn't tried him with silver yet, but—

The door opened behind them. Dean spun around while Sam kept an eye on their target and found himself facing down a young girl, who promptly opened her mouth and screamed. Shit. While this cabin they'd tracked their target to was far enough away not to worry about more unexpected company, nothing in their intel had indicated that the guy had a kid. He couldn't even remember someone matching her description being seen with him.

She wasn't terribly old; thirteen, maybe, or fourteen or somewhere older than ten and younger than sixteen. He'd worry about her appearance—jarring red eyes and hair whiter than any platinum blonde dye job he'd seen before, which stood out against the black outfit—if their target wasn't also doing the coloured contact thing. And the outlandish clothes thing.

Dean lowered the gun—not too far, since he knew better than anyone that even kids could be a threat if they were possessed by the right demon—but enough to hopefully stop her from screaming her head off if she was just an ordinary human girl. "Hey, it's okay, this isn't—"

Scuffling came from behind as their target stood up and Sam cocked his gun. "They've come for the final act," the guy said. Gleefully. As if he were _enjoying_ this.

Dean had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean, so he risked a glance over his shoulder at Sam, who looked equally confused.

And then the last of their plan went sideways.

He didn't see the blast that sent the pistol flying out of his hands, but he felt its heat. The girl wasn't holding anything anymore—he couldn't even see what she could've used to pack such a punch—but her stance had shifted. She wasn't scared; she was focused. Hands balled into fists, feet apart, standing lightly and ready to move. To fight.

Salt rounds still hurt like a son of a bitch, especially close range, but better to bruise her than pull a knife. Besides, she wouldn't know the ammo wasn't going to do any lasting damage.

She didn't react when Dean readied the shotgun. Hell, she didn't even try to stop him. Didn't attack, even when he'd been preoccupied. Which made zero sense, especially if she thought he was going to attack her.

He heard Sam moving behind him, shifting to better cover his back. The guy they'd tracked down still hadn't tried anything, cryptic remarks aside. Definitely not a witch. Neither of them would still be armed if that were the case. But he had to have _something_ up his sleeve.

He didn't seem to recognize them—hadn't called them by name, hadn't seemed overjoyed or overly terrified by their appearance, now that the opening act was over—but that didn't seem to matter to him. He hadn't called them out as hunters, either.

But he also wasn't trying to run, wasn't trying to throw something at them or otherwise distract them so he could have a chance to get away. He hadn't told his kid to run. Heck, he hadn't even tried to keep their attention on him instead of her. Some parent that guy was. Or guardian. Whatever. Dean was pretty sure he'd make a better father than that dude, and that was saying something, considering how things had gone the last time he'd tried going domestic.

Sam was talking. Trying to calm the guy down. As if their target were the one holding the gun instead of staring down its barrel. There's no way that was going to work. Especially since— "You're responsible for all those robberies," Dean said to the girl.

She grinned. It looked…wrong. Feral. It was an expression that belonged on a demon, not a kid.

"_Christo_," Dean murmured, even as the man started ranting about payment. The girl's eyes never went black, and she didn't flinch. She was human after all.

Or at least not a demon.

"Don't move." That was Sam's warning. If the guy was smart, he'd listen. Even if he managed to get the jump on Sam, it wouldn't be enough to get out of here unscathed. They were used to taking on monsters. If these were ordinary people—

"Why don't you light it up for the finale, my dear? Put on a little show for our…guests."

Dammit, whatever that meant wasn't going to be good.

Behind him, Dean was vaguely aware of a fight starting up—Sam had made a move or vice versa—but he was more concerned about the fact that the girl's hands had caught fire. Not _fire_ fire, some kind of green flame that smelled like burnt ectoplasm and hummed like electricity, but still something that shouldn't be engulfing bare flesh.

The girl—or whatever she was—took a step forward, and Dean pulled the trigger. She staggered. And then she began to laugh. He shot her again.

He was definitely thinking more monster than girl now, which meant the other guy— "Sammy?" There'd been a crash a while back, and he didn't know—

There was a grunt. Then, "Human. Out cold."

"Yeah, well, I got a live one." The salt wasn't doing much to slow her down, not that it necessarily would, depending on what she was. She still hadn't attacked him yet. She was giving him time to reload. Why?

Dean blinked, and the girl vanished.

Before he had a chance to complete his turn, he heard Sam's surprised yelp.

_That_ was why.

Jeez, she was fast. "Salt barely slows her down," he yelled. Then, since he couldn't see Sam through the hole he and the other guy had left in the wall, "I'm coming through."

The room was tiny, barely two and a half feet wide despite running the length of the cabin, and was stuffed with jewels and gold and other valuables. Things that could be melted down or easily recut, reset, and sold off. Splinters and larger chunks of wood from the false wall were easily visible. Their initial target, as Sam had said, was out cold, looking like his head had cracked against a safe when they'd broken through the wall.

But Sam wasn't there.

And neither was the girl.

Shit.

* * *

Sam hadn't seen her move. He'd just felt someone grab him and then…nothing. He was conscious. Wide awake. But suddenly he couldn't feel the floor beneath his feet, and then there _was_ no floor beneath his feet and he was moving through the wooden wall as if it were just a hologram.

Reality crashed back a few seconds later when he hit wet ground with enough momentum that he skidded a few inches into a tree. The girl he'd glimpsed interrupting them earlier stood over him now. Even if it hadn't been cloudy, he was pretty sure he'd have been able to see her glowing.

He'd think _ghost_ if it weren't for the fact that she was solid. He'd felt her. And he'd been thrown enough times by pure power, magic, or sheer force of will that he knew what _that_ felt like, and this hadn't been that.

Although he still wasn't entirely sure how she'd thrown him through a wall without taking it out. A ghost wouldn't have had an issue getting through, sure, but the pain and the damp made it pretty clear that he was still alive.

Sam started to get up, but the girl was suddenly on top of him again, pushing him down. She was surprisingly strong, even for a monster. He tried to twist away, and she just pressed harder, intent on shoving his shoulders into the tree behind him. With a jolt, he realized that if she could take him through a wall, she could just as easily take him partway through a tree.

He took more than one swipe at her, but his hands just passed right through her. Even clawing at her hands as they pinned him did little good; he could certainly feel _something_, the barest skin contact, but nothing substantial. He scratched at her, trying to inflict the only harm he could, but she didn't flinch.

"Should I take your heart first?" she asked. Her smile revealed sharp teeth—not like a vamp's or a werewolf's, nothing so obvious, but they were unsettlingly long and uncannily pointed, too far past normal to be dismissed with the things he'd seen.

"He'd like that, I think," she decided. "Your heart. And then your head. For what you did to his."

He had to distract her. Give Dean enough time to figure something out, assuming she hadn't taken him out first. Sam didn't know what she was, if she was a human hopped up on some kind of monster juice, a monster with a human mask, or something in between. He started on a generic exorcism in case her powers were demon-related—

—and felt her hand in his mouth, holding his tongue, not so much as blinking when he closed his mouth. "I could rip this out." Her head tilted. "Not quite an eye for an eye, but he wouldn't mind. He wants me to be inventive. He encourages it."

She wasn't forcing him back anymore. She was still on top of him, lighter than someone her size should be but heavier than before, as if she were letting him feel more of her true weight—or forgetting that she was. He wondered if that meant more of her was solid again. She wasn't using her strength to pin him down. If he could knock her off….

She released his tongue and sat back. "But if I do that now, you'll never be able to apologize to him properly."

He swallowed. "Couldn't do that if you tore out my heart, either."

She laughed. "I just need you to be able to talk. You don't have to be alive for that."

Unfortunately, he knew the truth of that, though there was no guarantee he'd ever come back as a ghost if she killed him.

Which, given what she'd done so far, he knew she could do.

"I'd still need my head."

She seemed to consider this for a few seconds and shrugged. "Easier to find if you're not in pieces." She planted her right hand on his chest, directly over his sternum. "Still doesn't mean I can't—"

They heard the gunshot at the same time.

He felt her body weight vanish.

And then she shrieked, and her weight came back for a moment before she was off him, flying back towards—

_Dean_.

Sam scrambled to his feet.

He needed to help, but he didn't know what was effective against her. _Salt barely slows her down_, Dean had said, and Sam had never lost sight of her. She wasn't a ghost, but this wasn't just magic, and even demons experienced some limitations when they took someone for a meatsuit—namely, they couldn't just pass through walls like that. So what the hell had they walked into? They didn't have time to do more research now, not when—

Sam ducked as Dean fired off another shot and ran, keeping low as he circled well out of Dean's way. Not that that would help much with the speed that girl moved. Whatever kind of monster she was, she wasn't new to the game. She had a handle on her abilities, whether she'd been turned early or born that way.

There was a flash of green and then a string of Dean's curses. Sam didn't need to stop running to see that Dean's gun was on the ground and that the lichen-coated rock around it was scorched. He dove for it, but the girl was faster.

She only had a hand on it, but it was enough to make him slide right through it.

"What the hell do you want?" Dean bit out as the girl pointed the gun in their direction.

Sam got to his feet again, moving slowly and raising his arms so she knew he wasn't going to go for any weapons that probably wouldn't be effective anyway. Salt rounds might not kill them, but that didn't mean he wanted to be shot, especially from this distance.

"You hurt him," she said. Her grip on the gun wasn't sloppy; whatever else she could do, she knew how to use a firearm. Great. "You need to apologize for that."

"We'll apologize," Sam said, hoping to assure her now that she wasn't at his throat, but she turned the gun on him and narrowed her eyes.

"You _hurt_ him," she hissed again. "I'm supposed to protect him, and _you hurt him_."

"Hold up, you're supposed to protect him? You?" Dean's incredulous voice immediately drew her attention. "Shouldn't it be the other way around? I mean, you're just a kid."

Sam knew what Dean was trying to do. Even though he wasn't sure it would work, he pitched in. "Hey, you're, what, thirteen? Fourteen?"

"I'm…." For the first time, she was hesitating. "I'm…. It doesn't matter. I have to protect him. And you have to pay for what you've done."

Sam glanced at Dean. He wasn't the same person who'd killed Amy Pond in cold blood just because she'd been a monster. If this girl hadn't actually killed anyone, if she was only threatening to now because they'd hurt her father, guardian, whatever, then….

"Look, kid, me and my brother, we're good at first aid. We have to be in our line of work. So if you want to help your old man, you could start by letting us look at him."

"He's not my father," she snapped. "And you're the reason he's hurt!"

"It was an accident," Sam said, honestly enough. "We weren't trying to kill him." He'd seemed human, after all. And the explanation for all those robberies was in front of them. "I didn't get a good look at his injuries, but—"

"Then fix him," she said. "Fix him or I'll hurt you like you hurt him."

Sam met Dean's eyes. They both knew how desperate she was, how likely she was to shoot them because of some perceived slight, and not necessarily with the gun in her hands. Still, they didn't have a choice. If they couldn't figure out what weapons would work on her, talking her down was their best bet. And if they couldn't talk her down, if she flew off the handle, then they'd just have to throw everything they had at her and hope something worked.

"We'll do everything we can," Sam promised carefully. "We just need to look at—"

The girl rolled her eyes, tossed the gun to the side, and grabbed each of them by the arm. Sam wasn't any more prepared for the sensation of moving through solid objects despite knowing it was coming, and it was disorienting to suddenly feel the wooden floorboards of the cabin beneath his feet.

He wasn't surprised when Dean cursed and reached to steady himself on the opposite wall. Sam hadn't felt the wind despite how quickly they'd been moved, which was in drastic contrast to every time a demon or ghost or witch or whatever had thrown them across the room.

"The hell was that?" grumbled Dean.

The girl glowered at him, so Sam knelt as best he could to check on their original target. He already had a goose egg, but the blood made it look worse than it was; it might not even need stitches by the time they cleaned him up. Sam did a quick once-over, but nothing else seemed to be amiss. "Help me with him," Sam said, trying to manoeuvre so he could pick up the man without having anything else stacked in this place come tumbling down on them.

Dean grabbed the man's feet, and he mumbled something as they hefted him. The girl was quick to sidestep as they carried him back to the main room—some open-complex living room/kitchen combo that they'd mostly trashed when this mess started—and dumped him on the couch. Dean went to get a wet cloth, and the girl's gaze followed him.

Which gave Sam the opportunity to slip off and pocket the man's pendant without either of them—the man or the girl—realizing. It bore engravings he recognized but couldn't immediately identify, and he suspected it might tell him more about the girl and what sort of monster she was. The man was more cognizant when Dean returned, water and rag in hand, and Sam looked at the girl. "What's his name?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"Then what's your name?" Dean shot back.

"Just fix him."

"_Just fix him_," Dean mimicked under his breath as he started to dab at the blood on the man's head. "Look, I've got this. Head back to the car and see if you can find anything useful."

Sam glanced at the girl. "Is that okay with you?" He knew what Dean was really asking—call someone, do some research, just see what he could find out—and he knew the girl would—_should_—assume Dean was just asking him to see if they had any supplies that might help.

She nodded once, and he hurried out before she could change her mind. He could always bring back the suture kit, and if he didn't wait too long….

There was a small red stone set in the pendant, but it didn't look like it belonged there. The gem itself was all sharp edges, more a shard than anything else, and the claws holding it in place looked to have been bent in with pliers. It was rough. Crude. Even the markings around it were homemade. Whoever had done this certainly wasn't an expert at it.

They did, however, know what they were doing when it came to the runes themselves. Now that he got a better look at them, he could guess what they were for, despite modifications he hadn't seen before. Most people knew better than to try to control ghosts.

Whoever Dean was trying to help inside was clearly not one of those people.

And the girl….

Possessed, maybe? An unwilling vessel for a ghost? Or a witch whose spell had gone wrong? She looked young, but that didn't mean anything if she was a witch. Magic could explain what she could do, dragging them through solid walls like that. If he salted and burned this thing, maybe the ghost—

"You're not helping."

Sam jerked, dropping the pendant, and he turned around in time to see the girl's expression melt from anger to confusion. Her feet and then hands and knees hit the ground. She was shaking. Panting.

He knelt and pocketed the pendant and the larger pieces of the red centerpiece—_glass_, he now realized—that had shattered when it had hit rock. "Hey," he called softly, not wanting to touch the girl in case she snapped and did more than just threaten to tear out any important body parts, "you okay?"

She glanced up at him and scrambled backwards, flinging up pine needles and acorns in her haste to put some distance between them.

But it wasn't enough distance for him not to notice how young she suddenly looked.

How scared.

Like someone who'd been possessed by a demon and suddenly found themselves free.

Considering her eyes were green now instead of red, that theory might still hold some water—even if they really were dealing with some kind of ghost and not a demon.

"My name is Sam," he said, smiling at her. "What's yours?"

"Dani." The response was whispered. "I…I don't…. I don't know what…."

"It's okay, Dani. My brother and I are here to help."

She didn't look convinced of that, but she didn't shy away when he got back to his feet and walked over to help her up.

Instead, she stared at the pocket where he'd put the pendant. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he repeated.

She shook her head slowly and looked up at him again. "Not with that. Da— My cousin told me about that. About the gem that could do that. I didn't think there was another one after he destroyed it. I thought I was safe."

"And I just want to help you _be_ safe." Even if she was a monster, as long as she stopped this and didn't kill anyone, _hadn't_ killed anyone, well. He couldn't exactly fault her for what she'd done while she'd been possessed. His track record wasn't good on that front. "Trust me."

"I can't trust you when I don't know what happened," she retorted, some of her earlier fire resurfacing. She climbed to her feet, ignoring his offered hand. "Where are we?"

"Michigan." They weren't really near any towns, and unless she knew the area—

Her breath hitched. "Oh, crud. I don't know how long it's been. The last thing I remember was that magic competition in California, and—" She broke off. "This has to be Freakshow. Have you run into Lydia or any of the other ghosts? They're not still with him, are they?"

Sam blinked. All things considered, she was taking this remarkably well. "Who are Freakshow and Lydia?"

She made a face at him. "Lydia's another ghost," she said, her tone making it clear that she thought he wasn't keeping up with her. Before he could question her on the fact that she'd said _another_ ghost, she continued, "Freakshow's the creep who had the gem that could control them. Us. Give it here and let me see it. The amulet thing, I mean."

Sam raised his eyebrows but didn't comply. "Us?"

She rolled her eyes and reached for his pocket, and his hand went through her arm when he tried to stop her.

Definitely not human, as if he'd needed any more proof.

But the fact that she withdrew her hand holding the pendant meant she wasn't an ordinary ghost, either, even a relatively recent one with strong ties to her former life.

Ghosts couldn't exactly transfer their intangibility to other objects, let alone travel long distances without being tied to anything in particular.

She studied the pendant for a few seconds before looking back up at him. "Do you think I can burn this?" she asked, and before he could answer, her hands lit up with that green fire again. He jumped back, and she said, "No, don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

He wanted to believe her.

She was just a kid.

But he knew appearances could be deceiving. He knew the tricks monsters played on people. But she didn't seem concerned that she was showing him her hand, showing him what she was, and she seemed to take the fact that he wasn't freaking out himself in stride. Was it possible she was on friendly terms with a hunter? Could she have figured out what he was by his interest in the pendant, the fact that he and his brother were here? He hadn't said that they were the Winchesters, but that didn't mean she couldn't have put two and two together if she had any connections within the hunter community.

For all he knew, she could've run into Garth at some point after he'd been turned and learned which hunters she could trust.

"You have to salt and burn things to destroy them when they're associated with ghosts," he said quietly.

She stared at him. "Really? That's what you think?" She glanced at the unharmed pendant, shrugged, and tossed it in his direction. He dodged, not sure if it would be hot when he didn't know what kind of fire she could wield, and let it hit the rock at their feet. "Fine. Salt and burn it then. Just get rid of it and that stone."

She didn't make a move to run away or go back inside, just stood there with her arms crossed, so he grabbed the supplies from the trunk, wrapped the remains of the pendant in a cloth doused with lighter fluid, salted it, and set it on fire. He remembered the symbols well enough to be able to draw them again later and see if there was anything like them in the books the Men of Letters had written. Right now, he didn't want to disobey her and wind up fighting an angry spirit who didn't follow the same rules as the rest of them.

She was gone when he looked up again, but as he hadn't heard any screaming, he figured that was by choice.

Hopefully, he'd taken the steps to making an ally and not an enemy.

* * *

"Where's the amulet?" the creep on the couch screeched as he lunged at Dean and tried to go through his pockets.

Dean, naturally, swore and fought back.

And blamed Sam.

Because, clearly, Sam had pickpocketed something their monster-turned-not-so-innocent-victim valued, and his little monster minion might still be hanging around invisibly and watching all this.

"I don't have your freaking amulet," Dean snarled, twisting the guy's arm and finally succeeding in prying his hands off of Dean's jacket. "Now sit your ass down and let me help you or I'll just knock you out again to make my life easier." He didn't get hit with the freaky green fire the girl used when he said that, so he figured she was checking on Sam.

Just as well.

There was no way that would've gone over well, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with the fallout. As if their lives weren't messed up enough, things had to go sideways in the way that they always seemed to lately: unpredictably badly. Not _uncharacteristically_ badly, sure, but bad in ways they couldn't seem to account for.

"Give it back to me!" the guy shrieked, twisting so he could lash out with his feet.

Dean dodged and nailed him in the stomach with a well-placed punch that knocked the wind from him.

And then he felt the temperature in the room drop, saw his breath fog, and swore again.

He turned before the ghost girl had a chance to blast him in the back, but she wasn't focused on him anymore. She was staring at the guy she was supposed to be protecting.

Even from across the room, he could see the anger on her face.

She wasn't protecting him any longer.

She flew closer, not quite ignoring Dean but definitely not focusing on him, and shot _ice_ out of her hands, neatly freezing the guy's cloak to the couch.

He didn't miss the fact that if she could do that, she could probably turn them all into popsicles, but she'd been careful enough to avoid touching skin.

"Freakshow," she growled, "how long has it been?"

The guy—Freakshow was as good a name for him as any; he certainly looked the part—finally seemed to have caught his breath. "I don't—"

"I'm not stupid!" she shouted. "I've talked to Phantom, and I _know_ you've been doing it again, that you've been controlling me. _How long_?"

Freakshow didn't seem inclined to answer, and when Dean heard Sam come in, he moved back to his brother's side. "This is a new one," he muttered.

"Yeah," Sam agreed as he handed Dean the shotgun they'd left outside earlier, "tell me about it. The guy had this pendant with runes etched into it and some kind of glass that she seems to think he was using to control her."

"Well, she's icing him, not us. What kind of runes?"

"I didn't recognize them, but from what I could guess, she's not wrong about using them to control ghosts. I salted and burned the thing to be safe, so if she's tied to anything, it's not that."

"But she's not just a ghost. Ghosts don't _do_ all that."

"She might be tied to a person."

"Who, the freak show over there?"

Sam shook his head. "She said her name was Dani, but maybe things aren't that simple. What if Dani's an ordinary girl who's formed a connection with this ghost? It could explain why she's sometimes tangible."

"Sammy. Ghosts can't do that. That's not how possession works."

"I don't think it's a simple possession. And we've seen a lot of impossible things. Dude, we used to think angels never existed. What if this is just something else we've missed?"

"If you're suggesting we take her back to the bunker—"

"I need your help to return all this," Dani said, suddenly appearing between them and dropping an armload of stolen jewellery and other treasures onto the floor. "I don't know where they all came from, but I know they're stolen."

Dean glanced at the couch. Freakshow was bound and gagged with some glowing green stuff that must stick fast or he'd be working his way out of it already. Dani followed his gaze and just said, "We can drop him off at the nearest police station. He has to have a file."

"So do we," Dean said, "and I'm not getting my fingerprints all over that stuff." Let the girl or ghost or human working with a ghost or whatever she was take the fall for that. He didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, and he sincerely doubted she had a record—or would get one from this, considering what he'd seen her do.

Besides, why was a fourteen year old practically giving them orders?

Dani rolled her eyes. "Fine. There are some boxes in the other room, and I'm pretty sure his book is in that safe; I'll crack it and do the packing. You two can deal with Freakshow."

Scratch that. She was _definitely _giving them orders.

"You know we're hunters, right?"

She pursed her lips. "I'd guessed," she said, eyeing his shotgun, "but I've worked with ghost hunters before to catch the bad guys. Because I don't want to be one of them. I don't like it when people try to control me."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam but knew better than to push it. "Fine. We'll help you if you be straight with us. What the hell are you?"

"A ghost."

"We've run into our fair share of those, and you don't fit the bill."

She gave them a wide smile. "Maybe you just haven't run into my sort of ghost yet."

"This isn't our first rodeo. You can pretend to be a good guy all you want. Doesn't make you Casper."

The smile dropped off her face. "I'm not pretending to be good. I'm trying to be. There's a difference. Not like you two are going to be saints if you have criminal records."

"She got you there, Dean," Sam murmured. Traitor.

"You can't find a hunter with a clean record, kid, at least not once they've been around the block a few times."

She didn't bother to hide her dubious look. "I know a family of ghost hunters. The Fentons. And none of them have records."

Dean glanced at Sam, but a quick shake of the head confirmed that he hadn't just forgotten the name. Whoever the Fentons were, they ran in different circles.

Which wasn't really a surprise, if these people specialized in ghosts and somehow managed to avoid the authorities.

Maybe they weren't legit.

Or maybe they were about as good at their job as the GhostFacers, even if it was the family business.

"Fine," Dean said again. "But if we're helping you, you need to keep talking. And explain what you know about all of this." He wasn't about to turn his back on her, but he could cram Sammy into the backseat to babysit Freakshow and let Dani ride shotgun. Maybe by the time they actually made it somewhere, he could figure out what the hell she was.

Frankly, he still half-expected a reaper to pop out of nowhere and deal with her, but if they hadn't done that when she was in killer mode, they weren't going to do it when she was playing nice.

Maybe if he pretended he was on good terms with Billie and could get her to show, Dani would be a little more forthcoming. Assuming she even knew that Billie had taken over for Death. Even if the girl rightly didn't believe him, the boast might be enough to annoy whichever reaper was on Winchester duty into showing themselves and putting in their two cents.

"Why don't I just teach you how to _really_ deal with ghosts and hook you up with some actual weapons?" Dani jerked a thumb in Sam's direction. "He said something about salting and burning things? Seriously?"

"That's what works," Sam said, and she just snorted.

"Okay, look. We'll deal with this first. You can play human for the cops, right, kid?"

"Better than you think I can."

Sam's eyebrows were raised, but Dean didn't want to explain why he was caving with this. Why he was curious. Especially when he was—or at least had been—pretty sure it was just a story. He'd heard a lot of things while on the road with his dad, back in Sammy's Stanford days, but the wild stories that had flown around the hunter circles some years back, originating out of Wisconsin….

It might be nothing but stories.

It might have nothing to do with this even if it wasn't just stories.

But he damn well wanted to find out before this kid disappeared on him if he could.

Especially now that she wasn't ready to kill them.

If she had been controlled before, then maybe, now that she was free of that, she'd make as good an ally as Benny had been. They could use more of those, especially with what was coming.

"Keep an eye on the bad guy, Sammy," Dean said, walking over to pick up the pistol Dani had shot out of his hands earlier. "I'm going to do a final sweep of this place before we put it in our rear-view mirror."


End file.
